The key to unlock Sherlock Holmes
by SherlockianClaire
Summary: First fanfic, bear with me. Sherlock and John think they are finally safe from Moriarty, but things take a horrible turn when Sherlock wakes up, unable to remember the past few days and John had gone missing.Please review and let me know if you want more.
1. Chapter 1

**A new game begins. Jim always gets what he wants.**

It had been 2months since that night at the pool. Few things had changed, the changes that had happened were barely noticeable to a passer by, a friend, or an acquaintance but to John, and to Sherlock, they were rather obvious.

Sherlock had become more protective. At first he hid it, kept it under wraps, but John could see through so he gave up and was less than obvious about it, sighing heavily and frowning when John had to go out. Sherlock was scared and angry. Two things, which in Sherlock were the worst combination.

John, had also changed, he had become more careful around Sherlock. He worried more, if that was even possible. The two of them were never far from each other. Both living in fear. Moriarty was out there, and after the pool, who knows what lengths he'd go to.

Sherlock sat drinking his tea, idly flicking through the news paper looking for mistakes the police had made. John was making dinner, enough for two, although they both knew Sherlock wouldn't eat it, John still insisted on trying daily, he knew Sherlock would be hungry eventually, it was just trying to find something he'd be hungry for.

Sherlocks phone buzzed in his pocket. It was too soon. He just sat and stared, dumb founded, at his phone, a million thoughts, a million feelings, just bubbling beneath the surface.

_**I want to play a game. Are you ready? – JM**_

John came through, a plate of food in hand, and settled into his seat. He looked up and at seeing Sherlocks expression, the colour drained from his face. _Moriarty. _He needed to confirm his suspicions though, in an almost inaudible whisper he spoke:

"Is it him? Moriarty?"

With a short quick nod Sherlock verified this. Johns insides turned icy cold and he felt a chill creep up his spine. John loathed Moriarty. Sherlock knew he did, it wasn't hard to tell. John still hadn't told Sherlock what happened to him when Moriarty took him just before the pool incident. He didn't think he ever would.

"What does he want?" his voice louder now, but still quaking slightly.

"To play a game, but its ok, I don't want to play." Sherlock replied, looking his best friend in the eye.

John couldn't comprehend this, he knew Sherlock enjoyed the games, almost craved them, so why was he turning it down...

"Why not?" he asked, confusion lacing Johns voice.

"Because it's too dangerous." Sherlock replied coolly.

"I have you to think of." he added on after a few seconds.

Sherlock couldn't risk losing John, as much as it pained him to admit, he needed John, Sherlock never needed anyone, ever, his whole life he was fine, just him, but that night at the pool, Sherlock's fears were proven true, he needed John, he couldn't let anyone hurt John, especially not if it was his fault.

Sherlock quickly typed a short reply.

_**No, I'm not ready, because I don't want to play. You can create games and puzzles all you like. I will have no part in solving them. – SH**_

Sherlock gave John a reassuring smile. That smile held so many promises and unspoken words. _I won't let him get you. He can't harm you. I will protect you. Never again. It's ok. _At that smile, John relaxed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was ok, Moriarty couldn't _make _Sherlock do anything, it was ok, Sherlock said no, it's ok, I'm safe, we're safe.

Sherlocks phone buzzed again.

_**Oh you don't want to? Well, I suppose I'll have to make you want to. – JM**_

Sherlock gave a heavy sigh, almost mimicking John's, they looked at each other briefly, searching each others faces for any traces of emotion they'd missed. Seeing they had both relaxed, they carried on with their tasks.

That night, both John and Sherlock slept. They slept deeply. Sherlock was exhausted. They could relax. They said no. What else could he do?

Moriarty.

"SEB! Oh Sebby! I have a job for you. You'll like it. It's quite... Interesting." Moriarty screamed, although once Sebastian entered the room, Jim practically cooed at him.

Sherlock was playing a game of his own was he? Well, Jim knew how to beat him, he always had a plan.

"I need you to pay a visit to our dear friends Sherlock and John. Bring them to me. I want them sedated. Kept away from each other of course. Take whomever you wish to help you. I want them here by tomorrow morning. Understood? Here use this to sedate them, inject it into the top of the thigh." Moriarty knew he wouldn't let him down. Sebastian Moran was his best. His favourite. He was wonderful.

**Waking up**

John.

John fell asleep easily last night, slept well in fact, except for that small shooting pain in his leg, attributing that to his psychosomatic injury he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

Waking up, John was cold, it was dark, it felt like he'd slept all night, wondering why it was still dark. He couldn't entirely feel his whole body; it came to him in parts. John's head was fuzzy. He was sat up. Not the way he'd fallen asleep. John's hands were behind his back, tied. Definitely not how he'd fell asleep. Legs tied to what could only be the chair legs. John could only think of one solution, He'd been drugged and kidnapped. By whom, he had no idea, head still fuzzy. Upon raising his head, John let out a soft groan, he ached everywhere. Looking around, as he had expected; four dark stone walls, one door, no windows, one dim light. Although there were to things John didn't expect as much, a camera, and a projector.

John couldn't keep track of time, had no idea how long he'd been here, wherever here was. Hours after he woke up he found he was incredibly bored, after he had ran through so many different reason for his being here, he had panicked incessantly about Sherlock and whether he was safe, John had nothing left to think about. His stomach grumbled and throat was terribly dry. John longed for a cup of tea very much so. Licking his lips to wet them if ever so slightly, he tasted something with a metallic tinge. Blood. No wonder the left side of his face hurt so much. He'd been punched.

The first noise John heard other than his own breathing and heart rate startled him. He could hear the clinking of metal coming from the door. Bolts being undone, keys being turned. For a second, a trill of hope filled him; maybe this was Sherlock, or Lestrade coming to save him.

But that hope was short lived. In walked the man of John's nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sherlock.**

Sherlock woke and was immediately in a lot of pain, he was laid in his bed, and it was bright day light outside. The look of sheer panic and confusion on his would have been enough to make Moriarty happy for a week. He was covered in bruises, his chest hurt incredibly so, he suspected he had a cracked rib or two, his wrist was broken and there was dried blood all over him. What had happened, how could he sleep through such a beating… That's when he found the small pin pricks up his arm. Sedated. He called for John, no reply, again, louder, no reply. He hobbled through the flat checking all the rooms before the painful climb up to John's room. There was a note on the door. Sherlock felt sick, dizzy, he had to lean on the wall for support. The note;

**_You know how you said you didn't want to play? Well, you don't really have a choice now. You have to. Well, if you ever want to see your friend alive again you will. I will be in contact soon. In the meantime, I won't hurt him yet, don't worry, not physically anyway, he will be my little Pet for some time. He's ever so entertaining! - JM_**

Upon reading this, there was nothing Sherlock could do. He wasn't even in a fit state to fully comprehend what was happening. On the floor was a newspaper, obviously Moriarty had put it there. On the front page, the title read:_ Vicious gangs left multiple men mutilated._ He briefly read the first paragraphs;

_A gang have been leaving men around the city in horrific disfiguring ways. It's said they had each been kidnapped and slowly tortured to almost the point of death then left to bleed the rest of their life away alone._

Sherlock lost his breath; this was a message, the first message. Oh god, John. I'm coming for you. Checking the date he realised he'd been unconscious for 5 days. As quick as his painful legs would carry him, he went to find his phone. He called for a taxi to take him to the hospital to clean him up and fix him. This was wrong, he wanted his Doctor back. Sherlock didn't want anyone else to fix him. That was John's job.

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><p><strong>Moriarty.<strong>

"Well done Sebby! I am most pleased! Now make sure we have enough sedative to keep Mr Holmes out for a few days. Are you in a violent mood darling? I really hope you are…" Moriarty purred to Sebastian.

Seb smiled, a small smile, but Moriarty could see what was behind it. Sebby was very happy, he was excited, the anticipation in his eyes, they were practically glowing. This is what Jim hired the man for. Yes, he had exceptional aim with a gun, that was a bonus. He was about to use his skills to the full extent. To say Sebastian was messed up would be an understatement, he enjoyed hurting people, even more so than Jim. He enjoyed slowly killing them. He enjoyed breaking them down mentally. Then physically. Sebastian was about to have the most fun he'd had in a very long time, perhaps the most fun he's ever had.

Seb left and headed towards Sherlock's cell. Moriarty sat at his screen, the camera from Sherlock's room on a direct live stream to his laptop. Let the show begin. Within minutes, Jim was giggling to himself, he couldn't control it, this was too perfect. He'd taken lots of screen shots and recorded it all. Once Sherlock had been beaten enough through the course of 4 days, they had returned him to Baker Street where they'd originally found him. Thinking of Sherlock's reaction when he woke filled Jim with incandescent glee.

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><p><strong>John.<strong>

John was in shock, upon seeing Moriarty he silently mouthed no multiple times. John was convinced he was having some kind of sick night mare. Moriarty just smiled, that horrible smile, John new what that smile meant, it was never good news for John. John's reaction made Moriarty's smile broaden. How wonderful was this! He thought. He was getting very excited about the coming events. This is going to be the best fun!

"Evening Johnny, how are you finding your quarters? I hope you like them, you'll be spending quite some time here." gloated Moriarty.

John sat as still as ever, shaking ever so slightly, he stared straight ahead and gave no response. Moriarty begin to circle him, study him. He couldn't see Jim, he was behind him somewhere. The next second his hands were on John's shoulders. At his touch John gave an involuntary flinch and cringed, he pulled as far away from him as possible but Moriarty just yanked him back.


	3. Chapter 3

Moriarty held John tight, he pressed his body against Johns shoulders and brimmed with pleasure as John shuddered. He felt him bending down, Jims breath on his neck and his cheek brushed Johns ear.

"Johnny boy, my dear, you know you sure do have my attention. Albeit, not my full attention but still, I must say, I find you.. unsettling, loyal, fascination. What draws Sherlock to you so much eh?" Jim cooed into Johns ear. Moriarty came round to the front now, he grabbed Johns chin with one hand and snaked his other hand behind his neck. He starred menacingly into Johns eyes trying to figure out how to get a reaction, he hissed "Soon, my little pet, you will do whatever I ask of you. But for now, Goodbye my dear." And with that he planted his lips firmly on Johns, a quick short kiss, but it provided a good enough reaction, John struggled against Moriarty's grip but couldn't escape. It wasn't that Moriarty found John particularly attractive, although he was a handsome man, he just did what he needed to do, if that was what was going to give him emotion, he would use it, he would use it to break him. Jim smiled at how easy it was to find out what made John squirm, and slid out the room, the doors locked and re-bolted leaving John again once more.

The next 3weeks were one of the strangest of his life.

He struggled, he fought, he ignored, he became angry, calm, passive, anything, everything possible. There was no way he was getting out. It frustrated the hell out of him, it was like no one heard him talk, like his voice meant nothing unless he was encouraged to speak. It was torture in itself. He thought to himself, _I must be going insane, or I will soon enough. _He was invisible unless they wanted to see him. He felt so useless, so weak. He felt like some kind of animal, or a subject, like he was being used as some kind of experiment. He didn't know how right he was, this was indeed, an experiment.

Five times a day, a man would come and sit opposite John and just talk with him. Three times a day he was brought meals and water. Once a day, he was taken for a walk to the toilet, held at gunpoint of course, in case he tried to escape. And once every few days, Jim would come and visit.

The man that came to talk to John was tall, muscular, possibly ex army, and to be perfectly honest, scared him a trifle more than James Moriarty ever had. There was something unsettling in his voice, the way he spoke, moved, the look in his eyes, it was sinister, disturbing, and really, well, evil. Somehow, before John even realised what was going on, this man, with his clever tricks and way with words had managed to get John to tell his whole life story, facts, feelings, the lot.

* * *

><p>Today, they discussed Sherlock again, how John felt about him, although he never really gave a straight answer to this, because he wasn't quite sure himself. He talked about how they met, how they bonded, how well they fit together, how much he cared about Sherlock, how much he missed him, and about how much John thought Sherlock cared for him. But the man, the very very clever man, well, he caused John to have a startling epiphany. Whether it was true or not, it happened, in Johns position it was hard to ignore what was about to be said.<p>

"If he cared that much about you that much, why are you still here?" The man asked calmly. That struck a nerve. John felt like he'd had a slap in the face. They hadn't answers any of his questions, but maybe this time they might, slowly, carefully and shakily he asked "How long has it been?" he all but whispered.

"37 days." Was the cold calm almost robot like reply.

John froze. He felt cold. Alone. Why had no one come? Does no one care? Has everyone moved on? So many questions blazed through Johns head that he barely noticed the man get up and leave. That day, he never returned for his 4th and 5th session. His food didn't come at the usual time either. He was beginning to think they'd forgotten about him, perhaps they had gotten bored with me, maybe that's what had happened, Sherlock had become bored of John.

An hour or so later, John received a visit from Moriarty. But this wasn't the usual visit… There was no brief chat, the questions on how well he was being looked after, whether he liked the food, the ever deepening and sickening kiss. The content look on Jims face when he left, taking another piece of Johns sanity with him. No. This time was different.

"Johnny boy love, my pet, you don't look your usual self, what ever is the matter?"

Silence.

"Oh! Oh! I see! You've only just realised! Oh my poor baby!"

Moriarty stroked Johns face and held it against his side.

_At least someone cares_ John thought bitterly.

He was alone. Entirely alone, no one cared, 37 days! If it had been anyone else, anyone but Sherlock, he would have understood why he was still here, but how could the brilliant amazing detective not have found him? It was simple enough to John, he was not looking.

At that thought,tears began to roll down his cheeks, alone, trapped, forever.

Jim let a few tears fall, then began to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs. He was being surprisingly gentle which only confused the mixed up John further.


	4. Chapter 4

Although Jim took pleasure in hurting people, something told him now wasn't the right time to gloat. There was something about John, he was beginning to realise why Sherlock kept him. Jim of course, wanted to break John, to bend him to his will and use him as his own, but he also liked the idea of having someone around who cared for you. Not necessarily someone you cared for, but someone who cared for you. He had always wanted that.

He found a small sense of comfort when visiting John. Everyone who worked for him or near him, they were all heartless, all they cared for was money, whereas John, he was different, it was nice.

After an hour of letting the doctors tears run dry, Jim decided it was time to move on. But naturally he had to leave a little present behind for Sherlock. Moriarty flicked out a small knife from his picket and pressed it to the base of Johns neck between his collar bones, he added a small amount of pressure breaking the skin. John took a sharp intake of breath at that point and hissed ever so slightly at the sting. Jim pressed hard enough, just hard enough, letting a small trickle of blood run down and start to soak into Johns cream jumper_. There_, he thought, _I'm sure Sherlock will appreciate this._

Before Jim left, he stole another kiss from John. This time it was different, he'd made some kind of break through. John had stopped fighting. He'd stopped struggling. John just let Jim kiss him. John no longer held his lips tightly shut, they were slack, they let Moriarty's tongue plunge in, explore, fill Johns mouth with his breath. The look on Jims face was priceless, delight mixed with confusion, but a hint of self pride, after all, he'd began the process of breaking John, and he'd just rounded a huge corner.

John had stopped fighting now, simply because there was no longer any point. He had lost. He had lost 37 days ago but just never let himself believe it until now.

It was time to let the real games begin.

It was another 7 days before Moriarty made contact with Sherlock again. John had been missing for a total of 12 days now. No, not missing, kidnapped.

Sherlock had panicked constantly, barely slept, eaten little and was a ball of nerves. Neither Lestrade or Mycroft had any leads to Johns whereabouts and Sherlock was going out of his mind with worry.

On day 12, Sherlock received a text;

_**Quick update, John is the most pleasant captive! Don't worry, I haven't even drawn any blood! – JM**_

Over the next few weeks, Sherlock had his hands full, his mind full, but even though he had multiple strange murder cases, obviously set up by James Moriarty, John never left his mind.

37 days later, he received an image. John. John was alive. But he was crying. That was the first thing Sherlock noticed. Next, John was tied up, and Moriarty held Johns head into his side, in an almost comforting way. If any kind friend had done that, it would have been a nice gesture. But not when Jim did it.

Next, Sherlock noted was the fact that there was no blood. No bruising. Nothing to indicate harm, so why was John crying. This didn't add up.

Sherlocks strong, thick skinned, level headed doctor, crying.. He had never seen John cry before. This only made him loathe Moriarty more than he deemed possible. John looked so vulnerable, so broken. Sherlock's eyes became glassy and watery. He needed John back.

_**What have you don't to him? – SH**_

_**Ahh, you see, not what I've done, what you've done. – JM**_

_**How is this my doing? – SH**_

_**Have you ever wondered where he thinks you are? Perhaps you're taking too long.. – JM**_

Sherlock paused, he had no idea what Moriarty was insinuating.

_**What do you mean? – SH**_

_**Here's a clue. The answer lies within the murders you've solved. There are clues left on each of the 6 victims. – JM**_

Sherlock knew what this meant. On all victims, there were letters engraved, burned, or tattooed into their skin.

JTYDC JTYF

OHOOA OHOO

HIUNR HIUR

NNE NNVG

K KEO

S STTEN

A puzzle. Sherlock had to re-arrange the letters. He set to work at once.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry its taken me so long to update, been crazy busy! I hope this okay, apologies for shortness too. I'll get cracking on some long chapters this weekend :)

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><p><em><strong>John thinks you don't care.<strong>_

_**John thinks you've forgotten.**_

Sherlock unscrambled the words with much ease as soon as he knew that they were linked with John. That's the message. That struck him hard. How could John possibly think that? Of course he cared. It would be completely stupid of anyone to think he didn't. John would never believe Moriarty's lies. He was to strong for that.

A moment later, he heard the letter box clatter. Sherlock raced down the stairs and grabbed the envelope up from the floor. Moriarty's seal. He froze for a moment, regaining his thoughts and calming his heart which felt like it was about to burst out from his chest. He ripped open the envelope and there was a small black USB stick and a note.

_**I wonder what Johnny would think if I showed him this, by this, I mean the edited version of course! - JM**_

Sherlock sat in complete silence watching the first video clip. The only noise was the soft him of the laptop top, his shallow breathing and the loud fast beat of his heart echoing through his ears. Sherlock himself appeared on the screen. Sat in a chair, hands cuffed behind him and unconscious. He deduced that from what he was wearing, this had happened the night they took him and John. The Sherlock on the screen began to stir and Moriarty's voice filled the room on screen and in turn, boomed through the speakers leaked through his and Johns flat as if it were contaminating everything with some kind of poisonous gas.

"**So glad you decided to join us! You see, I need you to do something for me.." He paused, "If you don't do as I say, poor John, well, he'll be hurt, quite badly in fact."**

"**What do you want me to do?" snarled the drugged Sherlock.**

"**I want you to repeat what I'm about to say, but with _meaning and feeling._ Like you really mean it. You will only have one chance to do it to an acceptable level. Now, listen carefully." Moriarty took a breath and the words that followed made Sherlock cringe, and that he repeated them, well, that made he wince. **

"**I will do nothing for you. I don't care about John. Do what you like with him. He means nothing, not to anyone. I don't need him."**

Sherlock's vision blurred slightly as he watched himself repeat the words. He quickly blinked restoring his vision to normal and started to try and figure out what was going on.

Why was Moriarty doing this, what was he up to?

The video ended and he played the second one. If Sherlock thought the first was bad, well, the edited version was something John should never ever see. He watched in horror and imagined what John might think if he saw this.

"**If you don't do as I say, poor John, well, he'll be hurt, quite badly in fact."**

Sherlock held his breath as he watched himself on the screen.

"**I will do nothing for you. I don't care about John. Do what you like with him. He means nothing, not to anyone. I don't need him."**

Sherlock was frozen in place. Moriarty was going to destroy a good man. He was going to destroy a good man with Sherlocks help in some twisted way. There was nothing he could do. No one had any leads. Not Lestrade and his team, they were all working none stop, round the clock and still, nothing. Even Mycroft had nothing., dead ends everywhere.

_**Baker Street. Now. – SH**_

He summoned his brother. Perhaps there was something, a clue maybe, that Sherlock had missed. Maybe there was something there in that video that would tell them the location. Mycroft would spot it. A strange feeling surged through his chest, hope.

* * *

><p><strong>John<strong>

After Jim had left, he was brought his food. He ate as he did every night, and when he had finished, he waited for the man to leave and take his empty plate away as was the usual routine. But that didn't happen. The man just sat there, looking at John, as if expecting something to happen. That's when it clicked. His eyelids began to flutter, his limbs felt heavy. He had been drugged. Then darkness took him.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft heaved a heavy sigh upon receiving the text from Sherlock. It had been over a month and Sherlock wouldn't let it go or move on. Mycroft himself, had done everything in his power possible to help his brother, so, what more could he possibly do now?

Either his brother had gone completely mad, or there was some new evidence. And for once, he had no idea which on would be more probable.

Within 20minutes of getting the text, he was sat across from his brother watching the first video clip on Sherlock's laptop. Sherlock refused to let him see the second clip. It was of no use anyway he had deduced.

Sherlock sat eyes boring into Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes had an idea. Sherlock instantly picked this up; he looked like a huge ball of dangerous energy ready to explode. So he thought it would be best just to crack on and tell him what he knew, rather than deal with it himself.

There were only two places that had identical rooms to the one Sherlock had been in. The abandoned prisons on the outskirts of the city.

**Sherlock**

Disappointment surged through the younger Holmes upon arriving at the first destination and finding nothing. So Sherlock was in a police car with Lestrade on the way to the second possible place before the team had began to even pack up.

He was scared, the great Sherlock Holmes, was scared. He was scared about what could happen, what he might miss if he didn't hurry. He'd already wasted valuable time coming to the first location. Luckily for him, Lestrade was in the same boat, as the saying goes, and he wanted to find John almost as much as Sherlock did himself.

**Lestrade**

Lestrade had lost a friend. Someone he could confide in, go to for help, advice, heck, eve just go for a beer and watch a game or two. Things hadn't been the same. Since Lestrade had divorced his wife, him and John had become close, both losing people dear to them, but not through death, losing loved ones from their life through no fault of their own.

He'd been working himself to an early grave in search for John. Even Donavon had helped him for the first 3 weeks, putting in extra hours, doing over time, working nights, in hope to find just a tiny shred of hope in one small clue. But she'd given up before long. But not Lestrade, he was as hell bent on finding John as anyone. But not just for Johns sake and his own, for Sherlock's sake too. Sherlock, as much as Holmes himself would never admit it, was a friend, and he hated seeing his friend run himself into the ground. Sherlock was a wreck, he was falling apart at the seams and in Lestrades opinion, it wouldn't be long before Sherlock turned back to his old habit, the one he managed to kick because of John. Lestrade feared the worst, he fear Sherlock would start using again soon, if he hadn't already.

**Sherlock**

Before the car had even come to a complete stop, Sherlock was out, no regard for his own safety, he just had to find John, he didn't care what happened to him, so, he hurtled towards the building, not giving a second thought to any obstacles he may come across.

When he reached the long corridor, he stopped for a moment, locating any rooms that had been used recently by reviewing the amount of dust. He situated what could potentially be Johns cell The only one had had been used often, and in the past day or two.

He walked quickly down the long stretch of concrete. A part of him waned to walk slowly, or stop still, wait for someone else to find what lay behind the door. What if this was it? What if Moriarty made it this easy on purpose? What if Johns dead? Or on deaths door? Left to bleed out, alone, like the men he'd read about in the paper that first day?

But another part of him, wanted to run, faster than he'd ever ran before, he needed to know, he needed to see John. If he was there, and well, why should Sherlock keep him, or himself, waitig any longer?

No, instead, he settled for a brisk walk, heart hammering in his chest, palms clammy. In the distance, he heard shouts from behind. Probably Lestrade and his team. But he couldn't focus on the voices. They seemed muffled. Far away. His mind was too focused on what lay ahead.

He reached the door and pulled it open.


End file.
